


Driving Need

by SylvanWitch



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: First Kiss, Idiots in Love, M/M, Steve is clueless until he's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29762004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanWitch/pseuds/SylvanWitch
Summary: Steve's a reckless driver, but it's Danny who takes the biggest risk.
Relationships: Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams
Comments: 2
Kudos: 91





	Driving Need

**Author's Note:**

> For my personal prompts bingo card square: GTFU, which I am interpreting as "Grow the F*** Up," and which I softened, language-wise, for the context in which it's being used in the story.

“I’ve met five-year-olds more mature than you are. Seriously, you’re a little kid.”

This was not a new complaint, and as with most of Danny’s rants, Steve let it roll off his back.

The comment that had triggered these latest pearls of wisdom had been about testing the limits of the Camaro’s responsiveness on a narrow mountain road. Danny thought it was pointless and reckless, though Steve had—patiently, he thought—pointed out that knowing what the car was capable of was important for the work they did.

“Maybe if you didn’t think car chases were a routine activity, we wouldn’t have to have these ridiculous conversations. I can’t believe I even have to say ‘No’ to this. Grace had more common sense when she was six than you do. When are you going to grow the hell up?”

What had started in Danny’s usual aggrieved tone ended on a decidedly sharper note, and Steve took his eyes from the road to parse his partner’s expression.

Tight lips. Tension around the eyes. One hand on his thigh balled into a fist.

“What’s this really about, Danny?” Steve asked, slowing down and looking for a spot to pull over. He had a feeling they’d need to be stationary for whatever was coming next. Something in his gut clenched, and he felt his heartrate kicking up.

“Nothing!” Danny shouted, entirely unconvincingly.

A cracked macadam overlook came into view, and Steve darted across the oncoming lane, scolded by the rude blat of a dumptruck horn, to come to a stop in a spot overlooking the ocean a hundred feet below them.

“Case in point,” Danny muttered, already freeing himself from the seatbelt and fleeing the confines of the car, as if he couldn’t stand to be that close to Steve a second longer.

“Danny,” Steve said, leaning a little across the roof of the Camaro, open door behind him. His hands were open, too, gesture more than tone asking his partner to give him a little help here. 

“You’re such a child!” Danny said, quieter than before. Something low and tight in his voice made the skin across Steve’s shoulders tighten.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, a little defensive, unable to hide it. He felt like he had in BUD/S during drown-proofing, like he was in over his head and didn’t think he could tread water a moment longer.

Danny snorted, a short, frustrated breath out his nose, and dropped his eyes, as if there weren’t a million-dollar view of sea and sky spread out in front of him. He shook his head and finally— _finally_ —gave Steve his eyes.

Steve took a breath at what he saw there—bitterness and resignation, the kind of look Rachel used to wring out of him, back when they were fighting over Gracie all the time. He didn’t know what he’d done to put that look on Danny’s face, but it felt like a punch to the gut to see it there.

Steve flexed his hands as if he could grasp the meaning of Danny’s look if he could only hold on hard enough.

“ _What_ , Danny?”

Danny’s face transformed, lighting up with a familiar, incandescent anger.

“Whaddya mean, _what_? You ask me that, Steven, after what you pulled yesterday?”

Steve thought back to the day before, when they’d had coffee and malasadas in Danny’s office in the morning, caught a break on a drug smuggling case, and spent the afternoon tracking down what turned out to be a false lead.

On the way back to the Palace, Steve had suggested they get dinner together, since they’d skipped lunch, and had taken Danny to a new place that had opened in Wailupe. The pizza had earned Danny’s grudging approval, and the house specialty microbrew had been good enough to warrant a couple extra rounds.

Steve hadn’t been drunk when he’d gotten behind the wheel, though. Danny had to know that, or he’d have said something at the time. 

It couldn’t be Steve’s driving on the way back to the Palace to pick up his truck, either, since there had been little traffic by then, and they’d taken their time, cruising along the water at the speed limit, windows down, a sweet, warm breeze blowing through, carrying the scents of frangipani and saltwater.

It was true that Steve had been strangely reluctant to end the night. He had been mellow with good beer and a better drive, his muscles loose, maybe a little sloppy, even, when he’d let his head fall back against the headrest and turned to give his partner a grin.

“Steve,” that partner said now, something urgent in his tone.

He came back to himself with a start, surprised at his momentary loss of situational awareness and discovering only belatedly that a little of that sappy smirk had crept back onto his face.

“I thought we had a good time last night, Danny,” he said, realizing only as he said it how it sounded.

“Steve,” Danny said, tone wounded now, like Steve had struck him.

In movies, people had these revelatory moments, lightning on the road to Damascus, scales falling from their eyes. Before, Steve would have called bullshit.

Now, though, seeing in Danny’s face a naked hope he’d never imagined he’d find there—he’d never thought to _look_ for?

Before he could second-guess himself, Steve rounded the back of the Camaro and charged toward Danny, who was standing his ground with his feet spread at shoulder-width, like he was preparing for a fight.

Steve stopped at arm’s length and reached out to wrap his hand around the nape of Danny’s neck, holding it there for the length of time it would take Danny to say no if he were going to.

Then, with a gentle pressure, he pulled his partner toward him.

Danny’s face was already tilting up towards his, his pale lashes already fluttering closed against his fair cheeks, when Steve’s lips touched Danny’s, pulling a breathy, surprised sound out of him, before he touched his tongue to the part of Danny’s lips and was allowed inside.

They were pressed flush together, thighs, bellies, chests, the hot, wet slide of Danny’s tongue bringing Steve to full hardness in an instant, when the raucous catcalls of a car full of bikini-clad girls brought them back to themselves, flushed and panting and frustratingly far from privacy.

“Why didn’t you do that last night?” Danny asked, looking gratifyingly wrecked, his cheeks flushed, lips red.

“I didn’t know,” Steve answered helplessly, hands opening and closing against Danny’s cheeks, where they cupped his face like he was fragile and precious.

“You’re an idiot,” Danny answered fondly. 

Then, “Keys.”

Steve’s brain was low on blood, so he was to be forgiven for his confusion.

“I’m not letting you get us into an accident before we can get to your place,” Danny explained, snapping his fingers impatiently.

“Ignition,” Steve said hoarsely, breathless with the implication of Danny’s words and gutted with wanting him.

“Should’ve taken the Mercury,” Danny muttered as Steve levered himself into the passenger seat.

A sudden vision of Danny, shirt spread open, pants around his ankles, sprawled across the backseat of his father’s old car made Steve have to swallow and recite M-4 specs in his head before he could answer.

“Take us home, Danny,” he said hoarsely, fastening his seatbelt. He had to look away from the sight of Danny’s hands sure on the wheel. What he wanted those hands to do to him…

“Hold tight, babe,” Danny said, pulling smoothly out onto the road. “I’ll get us there.”


End file.
